What A Zoo
by Psycho Goddess
Summary: An obsession with a children’s book and a birthday present. [GS- Unbound and UtB response]


**Title**: What A Zoo

**Summary**: An obsession with a children's book and a birthday present. [GS- Unbound and UtB response]

**Author's Notes**: Okay, I admit it. I'm so far behind I didn't have time to write two stories. So I cheated and put the 5 Elements challenge from YTDAW and the Improv challenge from Unbound together. It resulted in random, OOC randomness. But what fun it was to write.

**Disclaimer**: Not. Mine. That is all.

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"Rub-a-dub-dub two ducks in a tub?" Grissom quipped, eliciting a general groan from the officers on scene.

"It gets better," replied Greg. "Our vic was practically running a petting farm. One Great Dane, two ducks, three canaries, four ferrets, five kittens, six mice, seven leopard frogs, eight goldfish, nine newts and- get this- ten cicadas, probably from Brood X."

Grissom gave the young trainee an approving nod, and he blushed.

"Well, Sara identified them," he admitted.

"Only because you couldn't Greggo," the woman in question jested from the door.

"Teacher's pet."

"Class clown," she shot back, grinning. Realizing that Grissom would probably frown on their friendly banter, she turned serious.  "Hi Grissom, took you long enough to get here."

"Isolated dirt road in the middle of nowhere isn't exactly on the map."

"You were the only one who had a problem finding it. And isn't that a little redundant? Isolated in the middle of nowhere?"

            "Not necessarily. You can be isolated anywhere."

            Muttering something that sounded like 'no shit', she refocused on Greg.

            "The animals… did you ever read the book 'One Wild Zoo' when you were a kid?"

            Grissom shook his head.

            "That's an old book Sara. I don't think anyone under the age of forty remembers it. Besides you."

            "Fair enough, my parents always were behind the times. Do you recognize the animals?"

            "You're kidding."

            "I wouldn't dare."

            "You actually remembered something from a book you haven't read in years?"

            She grinned sheepishly.

"Sort of. This was a pretty big clue," she admitted, holding up an evidence bag containing the children's book.

            "Good. Maybe he wrote his killer's identity in the margins," he muttered, unnecessarily sarcastic. The guy was obviously a bit odd, but Grissom highly doubted that a children's story was pertinent to the investigation.

            "Not quite, but what he wrote _is_ pretty cryptic."

            The look he gave her was unfiltered amazement.

            "I'm overzealous, not stupid. First page- Quote 'I don't have any regrets. Doubts about what I've done, but no regrets.' End quote."

            "That could be anything."

            "And it could have something to do with our investigation. Plus, I found this," she proclaimed, flourishing another bag. This one contained a broken pager. "H. Lovebug, 555-7829."

            "Henry Lovebug? The zoo guide, right?"

            Sara grinned. "Your knowledge of children's literature is impressive."

            Greg, at this point incredibly confused about the whole conversation, coughed.

            "I'm going to go… something."

            And he bolted from the room.

            "What was that about?"

            "Beats me," shrugged Sara. "When's animal control getting here?"

-(-)-

            The morgue was quiet when Grissom and Sara entered; Robbins was the only one present.

            "Hey Doc. Do you mind if you have an audience?"

            "Not if it's you," he told Sara. "You haven't been around lately."

            "Busy," was her one word answer.

            Hobbling over to the slab where Trevor Adler lay, Al Robbins began his work.

            "Hey, would you mind seeing if he had contacts in?" asked Sara.

            "Sure thing," the pathologist replied, moving towards the head. Opening the decedent's eyes, he gave a shake of his head.

            "No lens in this one, and the other would never. Glass."

            "A glass eye?"

            "Yes," he replied, popping it out. "You should be able to trace it from the serial number, find out where he bought it. It's high end."

            "But that's impossible," Sara argued. "We recovered several pairs of contact lenses from this guy's place, and he lived alone."

            "The elusive H. Lovebug?" Grissom hazarded.

            Sara shrugged. "Maybe. Let's just hope Nick had more luck with the hotel key card."

            "I doubt it. It was old, and demagnetized. Probably something Trevor picked up somewhere. But maybe we'll be lucky."

            "Well, you were more lucky then this guy was," continued Robbins. "There are half a dozen ligature marks on his neck, all paramortem."

            "Somebody wanted him to suffer," Sara inferred.

            "I'll know more when I'm done, but from the healing on these abrasions I'd say he was kept alive for three or four days. If you look here…"

-(-)-

            It was several days later, and all the paperwork on the Adler had been completed. All that was left was a few months of prep work and the trial. Assuming the defendant didn't plead out, which he probably would. A knock came on Sara's door, and she went to answer it. Peering through the peephole, she came face-to-face with a slobbering canine. When she opened it, she was surprised to find Grissom standing on the other side. Beside him was the Great Dane from Trevor Adler's home.

            "Happy birthday Sara."

            Her jaw hit the floor.

            "I can't… dog... apartment… not… Good God Grissom! What were you thinking?"

            "Oh, he isn't for you. He just insisted I go for a walk, and we ended up here."

            "You? Dog?" She would really like it when she managed to string an entire sentence together again.

            "Yes. I used to keep dogs, when I was a kid."

            "Really?"

            "Yeah, drove my mother nuts. Said she didn't want those mutts around the art."  
            She would gladly have taken the incoherency of a minute prior over the utter speechlessness she was now faced with.

            "Come in," she offered. "And don't mind the cot, my cousin was passing through and spent the night here. I haven't gotten around to putting it back yet."

            He did, the dog following obediently behind his new owner.

            "Here, I'll take your coat."

            "That's alright."

            "It's hot Griss, you don't need that stupid jacket."

            A quiet mewling interrupted her, and she glared at Grissom.

            "What was that?"

            "A… birthday present?" he guessed, taking the small orange kitten from his jacket. "It was a bad idea, but I remembered how much you liked orange cats and…I'll take her back tomorrow."

            "Let me see," Sara ordered, holding out her hands. He handed it off, and Sara smiled. "Thank you. It's a nice gift, Griss. I mean it."

            Pleased with her reaction, he sat on the nearest piece of furniture, which happened to be the rollaway cot. She sat beside him, giving him a shy smile before looking back at the contented feline in her arms. Eager to be in the action, the dog leapt onto the cot as well. It was a nice, 'we're good friends' moment.

            And then the bed's legs snapped in half.

……………

Characterization? What's that?


End file.
